


Not Unspectacular Things

by Augend (orphan_account)



Series: what's next? (feat. the seaborn administration) [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Augend
Summary: "A backyard?" Donna questions, incredulous. "The South Lawn - you called the South Lawn abackyard?"
Relationships: Joey Lucas/Donna Moss, Josh Lyman & Donna Moss & Sam Seaborn, Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn
Series: what's next? (feat. the seaborn administration) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109723
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Not Unspectacular Things

Donna’s woken up three hours after she’d come back from the White House and fallen asleep in Joey’s favorite armchair while watching some asinine thing on Netflix that she’d had no real interest in. 

She yawns, stretching an arm and wincing at the crick in her neck, before saying, “Donna Moss,” complete with every degree of professionalism she can muster at 6 am. She’s gotten good at cultivating that over the years, over the six months she's been doing this job. Donna’s been in DC for a long time now and is too familiar with the insanity that creeps in its corners to not have done it. She likes to think that she knows the nooks and crannies of life here well enough to keep a handle on them, but there have always been exceptions.

Donna had had to show Joey the ropes after she’d won her first congressional campaign and had to relocate from California. Joey’s been back there for the past week and a half, and the thought of her makes something ache, low and warm in Donna’s chest - probably compelled her to fall asleep in this chair and to curl into Joey’s side of the bed these past few nights. Donna’s lucky that she's a great conversationalist over text, though; Joey's humor is enough to brighten Donna’s day when she's missing her especially. When she comes back on Saturday, Donna's going to kiss her and Joey'll kiss her back, like she never left to begin with. 

The tiredness sits on Donna's tongue like a slowly dissolving pill, and it’s only when she hears _Georgetown Med_ and _President_ in the same sentence that the blunt edge of panic hits her.

* * *

Donna drives the car to the hospital with the kind of calmness that hides all the questions that have tangled up inside her. She’d put on flats instead of heels and tied her hair with a hairband that’s left a red groove in the skin of her arm. She’d wrapped it around her wrist right around the time Charlie had started talking about budget memos and how the Senate majority leader wanted to get five minutes with them, which actually means that they wanted five minutes with the president, and Donna hasn’t been anyone’s assistant for more than a decade, but she knows that five free minutes in the president’s schedule is basically a fantasy.

There’s a lot of reading in between the lines in this job, but Donna’s always been perceptive enough to pick up the little things. 

She parks - badly, Donna thinks, crossing lines and all wonky - in the hospital lot and flashes her White House ID before she's shuttled by a nurse wearing Mickey Mouse scrubs into a waiting room with a few college students with laptops balanced on their knees and one twenty-something typing away on his phone. She's there for about five minutes before the same nurse whisks her off to a smaller waiting room flanked by Secret Service. The nurse tells her that the president's getting treated and she'll be able to see him in half an hour or so. Josh is there, and she plops in next to him. He doesn’t look too worried, which smooths down some of the jagged feelings clawing in her chest, but still, Donna says, quietly, “What happened? Is he okay?”

“I thought that they briefed you,” Josh says, voice curling into surprise. “You know, gave you the rundown and all?”

“The rundown is the CliffNotes version, Josh,” she says. “The stripped-down, skin and bones and nothing else version. You know as well as I do that I need the details. They said there was an - accident? On the grounds?”

“Were you still awake when they called you?” he says, voice almost apologetic. It’s not like his edges have been sanded off, because they haven't, that's what makes him someone to be reckoned with - but there’s something there that hadn’t existed when they’d met in a campaign center years ago.

“Actually, I was getting my full eight hours. Happens once in a blue moon, you know,” Donna says with the knowledge that he’ll get it. He was there, after all. “I’d think with all the times you’ve woken me up at weird hours that’d you be able to figure it out.”

 _“Times?,”_ Josh’s incredulous, eyebrows bunched; she’s not surprised. “I - _might -_ have been one factor, but you also work in the city that never sleeps, Donna. Willingly, for many years. Of your own accord and everything.” 

“And here I thought you were actually acknowledging blame, for once. Also, you're getting your cities crossed, you know; maybe you are actually becoming an old coot,” she says, nudging him gently, and before he can exclaim something about her word choice and how he is definitely _not_ an old coot, Donna adds, swift: “So, what really happened?” 

“Donna, it’s not -” He stops himself, sheepish and quiet. It's clumsy, almost. “It _was_ a stupid thing, on my part - I mean, objectively. But, I mean, it's not a _let's wake up Dex at the asscrack of morning to do a briefing_ thing _."_

“As if you would know how to deal with the press corps,” she says, dry. Once upon a time, CJ Cregg had kicked Josh out of her press room - at least two out of the last four press secretaries have done the same. There's apparently a running bet that she's not supposed to know about when Dex will. Donna's got her money, metaphorically, on about ten months from now, factoring in Josh being in the East Wing instead of loitering around on their side of the building; this is supposed to be out of her radius, after all. 

“I -” he starts, but Donna gives him a look. She's known him since she was twenty-six; she's seen him at his best and at his worst. There's no attempt at muddling things between them that she hasn't figured out how to clear - not when she took Josh's laundry list of calls from angry legislators and not now when she's the president's right-hand woman. Donna would also like to think it has something to do with trust, because she trusts Josh, and she's sure that he trusts her.

“He - uh -” Josh fiddles with his sleeves - they're rolled up already. “Sam's nose is broken.”

“He -” It takes her a few seconds, rolling around the words. Sympathy burbles in her voice when she finally remembers to reply. “Is it bad?”

“I mean, he's not suffering in the cosmetic department; it was pretty minor,” Josh replies, the corner of his mouth flickering up for a second, fond and sweet and nearly tender. It's gone almost right after, but Donna's heart warms at it, along with the relief that crops up immediately after. “So, I guess, _bad_ in the life-threatening kind of way? No.”

“At least we’ll save face with the polls. Let's hear the story of Sam’s broken nose,” Donna asks, and the crazy part of this is that she’s not even surprised. Sam's got many good qualities - great ones - but what the campaign slogans and speeches didn't tell the American people is that he's got about as much coordination as she's got musicality. That is, not much - Donna never got past the first few lessons of piano and Samuel Norman Seaborn is a complete klutz. But some part of Donna is breathing a sigh because he's ok; she will always associate hospitals with that tense, terrible night in Rosslyn, with waking up after Gaza, mind woozy and body aching, with Josh looking like he might actually crumble right there.

So, the thing is, she expects Josh to join her, maybe throw in his own quips - for as much he loves Sam and Sam loves him, they're not above making fun of each other. But now, Josh turns away, like he's embarrassed, but not exactly, because Josh doesn't get embarrassed, and Donna doesn't get it before she notices the tips of his ears are red.

“Josh,” she says, slowly. “I promise I'll leave the commentary to the end. And it was an accident, right?" 

Josh puts the heel of his left hand up to his eye, rubs it, breathes in and out before putting it down, and Donna’s reminded how it's still early in the morning and she needs to be at work in four hours. “Yeah, but I mean this was something on my end - " He scrubs at his eyes again. "So, really?"

“Really,” Donna replies, and Josh sighs before telling her. 

* * *

From: Donnatella Moss _( dmoss@white.house.gov)_

To: Charles Young _( cyoung@white.house.gov)_, Dexter Canales _( dcanales@white.house.gov)_, Gabrielle Varghese ( _gvarghese@white.house.gov_ ), Penelope Chae _( pchae@white.house.gov) _

Subject: SENIOR STAFF PLEASE READ - Important 

Hi everyone, 

There's been a minor incident with the president; I just wanted to inform you before Twitter gets wind. It's nothing major, thankfully - he's broken his nose and has to wear a splint for a few weeks. In terms of how it happened, incidentally, the first gentleman accidentally hit him in the face with a baseball when he was showing the president how to pitch on the South Lawn. The surrounding secret Secret Service agents and the president corroborate this and he assures you that he and the first gentleman are still as happily married as ever (I can also corroborate this. Unfortunately.) He also told me to tell you to have a happy first day of summer and a happy National Chocolate Eclair Day. The overall outlook is good. I'll send you more details when I receive word. See you all in a few hours. 

Donna 

_Donnatella Moss_

_Chief of Staff of the Executive Office of the President of the United States_

dmoss@white.house.gov | (202)-766-0875

Sent from my iPhone

* * *

"You _what_."

Josh gesticulates with the practiced air of someone who's had to explain away more than one fuck-up in their life. "See, it was -"

"Josh, if you somehow figure out how to blame the baseball, I will actually quit," Donna says, without heat, because as ridiculous as this situation is, she can see that Josh legitimately does feel bad about it. Even if the circumstances are less than ideal - as in the following:

"Can you at least tell me why you thought it was a good idea?" she implores him. "Because I seem to remember that you aren't actually good at throwing things. And Sam isn't exactly a paragon of hand-eye coordination."

"I - it was a spur of the moment thing, Donna," he replies, wringing his hands even more wildly. "You know, I was bored, he was bored, we - we wanted to take our minds off things."

"Bored people watch HBO and YouTube and complain on online forums," Donna says, folding her fingers up in her lap in an attempt to ground herself. Bored people, she muses, get up to a lot of things. LemonLyman.com had run for 16 years, after all. There had also been that incident in the beginning of Santos' second term with a mix up over a bunch of federal fiscal reports with someone's 50-page Political RPF fanfiction. That had been a doozy. But, back to the point. "Bored people don't attempt to play baseball on the back lawn of the White House."

"Playing is an exaggeration," Josh retorts. "We - I was demonstrating, is all. And we're only the tip of the iceberg in terms of what bored presidents and first spouses do, Donna. It - I mean, obviously, in retrospect, it was a bad idea, but it's not the most out-there thing."

"Are you saying I should expect _more?_ " Donna replies, feeling her eyebrows arch. "It sounds like you've got more waiting in the wings, Josh. This is collusion, isn't it? You're up to something."

"Yeah, Donna, it is. Looks like you caught us," Josh says, in an attempt to be deadpan, but he's never been one for it. The humor cracks through, too obvious and he shakes his head, looking like he's trying not to grin. "Seriously, don't you know the story about Bartlet's tie before that one debate? Sam and I, we're just the start of the crazy, Donna. And it _was_ an accident."

It's at this that Donna exercises her well-practiced resistance to call bull on Josh's roundabout attempts at rationalizing. Resistance is a little too negative - its foundation is fondness, really, fondness from friendship and all-nighters and campaigns and politics. But she's still not letting him off that easy. 

"Okay," she notes. "But if the Press Office comes after you, then I'm not stopping them. I'm not encouraging them either, so let's call it passive support on my part. You owe them an explanation that makes you look at least somewhat normal."

"Deal," Josh replies, the corner of his mouth flicking up again, and that's when they get called in to see Sam.

* * *

Sam is in good spirits for someone who got beaned in the face with a baseball. Donna would say this is owed to his optimism, but she also has a theory about Charlie and her managing to get him out of seeing the majority leader. He does have a splint, but the White House physician says that the break's not severe and there's nothing misaligned, so there's no need for packing or any kind of procedure. She gives Sam some painkillers and a warning not to, essentially, get knocked in the face again anytime soon, but in clean, professional terms that Donna admires. 

"How're you doing, sir?" Donna asks, peering at him. His hair's all crazy, sticking up, and there are dark smudges under his blue eyes. He should sleep more, she muses, but that extends to all of them, and it's probably not happening anytime soon. 

"About as well as I can, at the moment," Sam replies, mouth in a crooked smile, dimpling on one side. That smile has captured audiences; it probably captured Josh, eventually, after he'd stopped looking the other way and finally let himself be happy. Then, Donna remembers that she's technically still mad at them. She sets her hands on her hips. "I'm glad you're doing peachy keen, Mr. President. But, you' re aware that this was probably a bad choice -"

"- that was kind of my fault," Josh interjects, before leaning over to run a thumb across Sam's cheekbone. It's gentle in a way that Donna's only ever seen a few times from Josh, and any real reply that she has softens when she sees Sam lean into it, just a bit. 

"I think I'm more than aware of the consequences, Donna," Sam says, after, but his voice is teasing. "I mean, my husband ruining my bone structure seems to prove that. I can only imagine what Dex will say."

"Hey," Josh says, the hand that was on Sam's face slipping down to his shoulder. His voice has heightened, just a bit. "Your bone structure isn't a casualty. You're fine." He says _fine_ , Donna thinks, like someone else would say _beautiful_. "Also, I'm taking the blame, Sam, but don't forget that you were the one who said 'Let's take a spin on our backyard, Josh, we only have so much time before Congress buries me up to my ears in paperwork -'"

"A backyard?" Donna questions, incredulous. "The South Lawn - you called the South Lawn a _backyard?"_

There's a silence in where Sam and Josh stare at each other, and something passes between them. Sam turns to her first, and he says, hesitantly, "I mean, if we're considering semantics, technically it is. We hold the easter egg hunt there, right? I think that works as a qualifier."

"It _is_ the back lawn of the White House," Josh adds unhelpfully, and it's all that Donna can do not to laugh, right there and then.


End file.
